


Break me like you mean it

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: D/s, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt 'plug'. Not nearly as harsh as the title implies; just fluffy porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break me like you mean it

Merlin stares in horror at the red splotch of wine on the front of Arthur’s formerly pristine white tunic.

Arthur’s fingers are pinching the bridge of his nose: never a sign of good things to come, generally. ‘Do I _want_ to know where you were in such a hurry to get to, Merlin?’

‘Er...’

Then, surprisingly, a slow, gentle smile spreads across Arthur’s face. ‘We all make mistakes, don’t we,’ he says sweetly, lifting Merlin’s chin with two fingertips.

Merlin clutches the now-empty jug of wine with relief. ‘So we’re letting it go?’

Arthur laughs, honey-soft. ‘I don’t know where you get these ridiculous notions from. Go to my chambers and kneel in front of the fire.’

Merlin blinks at him.

‘Now, Merlin,’ Arthur says lazily.

 

\--

 

His knees are already starting to hurt by the time Arthur strides in, even though it’s scarcely been a few minutes; the floor is hard and cold.

‘What were your orders?’ Arthur asks. Merlin looks up to see his brow furrowed with annoyance.

‘To kneel on the floor, sire.’ He wonders if he should have clasped his hands behind his head, instead of laying them on his knees.

‘I distinctly said _in front of the fire_ , Merlin. That meant on the rug. Not the floor.’

‘Oh.’ Merlin walks on his knees until the rug is underneath them, blessedly soft and warm.

‘Idiot,’ Arthur says. ‘Now stay there until I say you can move.’

‘Yes, _sire_ ,’ Merlin mutters, rolling his eyes.

‘You know, Merlin, something tells me you aren’t taking your punishment seriously enough.’ There’s a rumbling sound behind him, metal scraping heavily against stone as Arthur pulls a chest out from beneath his bed.

Merlin looks over his shoulder to see Arthur rummaging in the box. ‘Ah, here we are.’ He withdraws something long and slim, wrapped in dark silk.

‘What’s that?’ Merlin asks curiously.

‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Arthur grabs the back of Merlin’s tunic and hauls him to his feet, pressing the object into his hands.

Unwrapping it is almost like opening a gift, his breath quickening with anticipation as his fingers fumble with the silk. The object is made of smooth, shining wood, dark and hard, about six inches in length and slightly curved, its purpose unmistakeable. If he cared to wrap his fingers around it, they’d fit easily around its circumference.

He looks up to see hesitation written all over Arthur’s face. Arthur holds out his hand for the toy, and Merlin places it silently in his palm.

‘The next time you spill something,’ Arthur says, his voice only slightly shaky, ‘I’ll make you wear that all day. Is that understood?’

‘You mean you aren’t going to make me wear it today?’ The words are out before Merlin’s brain can catch up with his mouth.

‘Do you _want_ to be punished, Merlin?’

Merlin wets his suddenly dry lips with his tongue, sensing that the game-that’s-no-longer-a-game is spiralling out of their control. ‘I think—I think I deserve to be punished for ruining your clothes, my lord.’

‘Very well.’ Arthur sits down in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He nods toward the cupboard. ‘Get the oil.’

Merlin obeys without thinking, going to the cupboard and opening it. It smells of clean, sun-dried clothes and the lavender-scented soap he washes them with. Reaching up to the top shelf, he retrieves the stoppered bottle of oil he uses to massage Arthur’s shoulders and back.

‘Put it on the table and remove your breeches.’ Arthur’s voice is a monotone. Merlin could crack now, refuse the game. He moves to the table, sets the bottle down, and reaches for the thin strip of leather that ties his breeches closed.

Arthur’s fingers brush momentarily against his own. ‘This isn’t an order. Not if you don’t want it to be.’

‘I know.’ Merlin tugs the laces open, pushes the fabric down over his hips, lets it pool around his ankles.

‘Slick your fingers. That _is_ an order.’

‘Yes, sire,’ Merlin says carefully. He uncorks the bottle and slides two fingers in, tilting it and letting the oil swirl around his fingers.

‘Just two?’ Arthur taunts.

‘To start with,’ Merlin shrugs, sounding much braver than he feels.

‘Start, then. I haven’t all day.’ Arthur turns his head and gazes toward the window, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair. He’s beautiful in the sunlight, golden like an angel, like a god, his shirt sullied with red.

Merlin parts his legs as much as he can with the constraining breeches around his ankles, and reaches behind himself. The first touch of his wet fingertips against his clenched hole makes him close his eyes tightly. He rubs gently, getting himself slick and wet with oil, whimpering at how good it feels. Slowly, he lets both his fingertips slide inside him, his lips parting with a gasp.

‘Slowly,’ Arthur warns, catching Merlin’s hips to steady him as he stumbles forward.

Merlin nods, letting himself fall against Arthur’s lap, bracing his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur’s hands are firm on his hips, holding him steady.

He shoves his fingers ruthlessly deeper, muffling his moan in Arthur’s neck, clutching at Arthur’s tunic with his other hand, the wine-stain damp beneath his grip.

Keeping one hand on Merlin’s hip, Arthur strokes along his spine with the other. ‘That’s it, just like that. Come on, fuck yourself for me. Just like that, Merlin.’

‘Bastard,’ Merlin chokes, driving his fingers deeper with every thrust, his cock painfully hard beneath his shirt.

Sliding his hand up into Merlin’s hair, Arthur tugs his head back and nuzzles his face. ‘Harder, Merlin,’ he murmurs, lips against Merlin’s cheekbone, fingers tight in Merlin’s hair. ‘You can take it.’

‘Please,’ Merlin gasps, working himself with frantic fingers. ‘Please, Arthur.’

‘You’re talking too much.’ Arthur strokes Merlin’s damp hair away from his forehead, lifts the wooden plug to his mouth, lets its smooth head glide across Merlin’s lips. ‘Get this wet for me.’

Merlin parts his lips and lets Arthur push the plug gently between them, sucking its hard length into his mouth. Arthur lets it slide all the way in and then draws it back for a moment before pushing it in again. Merlin moans around the toy as it hits the back of his throat, but Arthur isn’t stopping now. ‘Close your lips around it. Suck,’ he orders.

Merlin, recalcitrant, clamps his teeth around the plug to prevent Arthur from moving it. Arthur lets him suck on it for a bit, holding it in place, offering no reprimand. He kisses the corner of Merlin’s mouth. ‘Come on, let it go.’

Breathing noisily through his nose, his fingers still buried deep inside him, Merlin opens his mouth. Drool trickles from around the wooden shaft, wetting Arthur’s shirt-front.

Arthur tugs him closer, an arm around his waist, and slides the plug down his back. Nudging Merlin's fingers away, he rubs the plug gently against Merlin’s oil-slick hole. ‘You want this?’

Merlin shakes his head against Arthur’s chest, hands fisted in the dark stain on the linen.

‘No?’ Arthur asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Merlin’s head, fingers stroking through his hair.

‘Don’t ask,’ Merlin clarifies, his voice hoarse with need. ‘Make me take it.’

‘Not going to hurt you,’ Arthur says into his hair, even as his own hips push up against Merlin.

‘You won’t.’ Merlin cups Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses his nose, his chin, the corner of his lips. Reaching behind his back, he clasps Arthur’s wrist and nudges it forward, pushing back against the plug. A cry escapes his closed lips as he presses them to Arthur’s, the plug sliding all the way in, smooth and thorough.

‘Damn it, Merlin,’ Arthur gasps, fingers desperately clutching the protruding base of the plug. ‘You all right?’

Merlin widens his thighs over Arthur’s lap, taking the plug deeper. ‘Shut up,’ he moans into Arthur’s mouth. ‘Shut up and fuck me, please, _now_.’

‘Demanding, aren’t we,’ Arthur says, his voice a little shaky with relief. He turns the plug in a slow tease. His other hand pushes the fabric of Merlin’s tunic high up around his waist, and Merlin feels a trickle of oil along his spine, dribbling over the small of his back and into the cleft between his cheeks, slipping into him where the plug is penetrating him. Arthur works the plug slowly, feeding the oil into Merlin’s hole, the slow slide of the wood delicious, torturous.

‘Harder,’ Merlin demands. ‘Faster, Arthur, _please_.’

‘I think,’ Arthur says against Merlin’s shoulder, ‘that you’re forgetting who the servant is, here.’

‘Yeah?’ Merlin asks, breathless, shoving back against Arthur’s hand, groaning at the pleasure-pain of it.

‘Yeah.’ Arthur makes his thrusts shallower, keeping Merlin spread wide, his hole stretched tight around the plug as it continues to fuck him. ‘You can’t order your king to do the work, you know.’

‘You can always’—Merlin gasps at a particularly hard thrust—‘ _ah_... punish me for it.’

‘God, look at you,’ Arthur says, his voice thick with lust. ‘Such a slut for it.’

Merlin whimpers, shakes his head, burrows against Arthur’s shoulder.

‘No?’ Arthur asks, sounding half-amused. ‘Not a slut for it, then?’

‘I hate you,’ Merlin grits out through clenched teeth, his arms wound tight around Arthur’s shoulders, his fingernails digging into the nape of Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s hand finally slides beneath Merlin’s tunic and wraps around his cock, tugging at it in strong, perfect strokes. Merlin’s back arches as he comes with a sob, burying his face in the curve of Arthur’s neck, clinging to him.

‘And I,’ Arthur says, dragging his lips over Merlin’s sweaty temple, ‘positively detest you, Merlin.’


End file.
